


Sixteen

by ThePancakePenguin



Series: Markings Made On My Skin [3]
Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Anxiety, Blurryface, Depression, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-30 22:16:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8551264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePancakePenguin/pseuds/ThePancakePenguin
Summary: Tyler finds the keyboard.





	1. Chapter 1

The marks had gotten progressively darker over the years, and would fluctuate from being only a light coat ending at his wrist to reaching his elbows and the color of his skin being unrecognizable and his lungs burning for days at a time. He still hasn't found out what they are and has given up on _trying_ to find out. _No one would have the answers, and he'd just sound crazy if he brought it up. He has enough things he hates about himself, thank you very much._

He had been digging in his basement for more places to hide from the whispers when he saw the silvery rectangle stuffed in the very back of the closet. All previous desires now gone, his curiosity forces him to pull it out of its corner and plug it into a nearby outlet.

He hesitantly taps one key, perking up at the sweet ring it produces. He is unperturbed when he sees the smudge on the once pure white key, no longer caring about trying to keep things free of the taint. He pushes more of the keys, a small smile gracing his face for the first time in weeks as he plays at random.

He sits on the floor with the keyboard for a good two hours, pecking away. In that time, he has learns a few nursery rhymes and two scales, C major and F# major, after reading over the small handbook that had come with the instrument along with discovering the different sound effects on the "VOICE OPTIONS”. Tyler somehow feels some sort of satisfaction at the sight of his muddy fingerprints staining the white keys. It's the most content he's felt in a while.

As he's brushing his teeth before bed, he's convinced that his clear fingertips framed in black are  _only a trick of the light._

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few weeks later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Near relapse in this chapter. Stay safe.

He starts to pay attention.

The day had started bad, and had only gotten worse as it continued. He had rocked back and forth in a bathroom stall during Physics and forced himself not to rip his ears off on the bus home. Why were teenagers so loud? Was it really necessary for his peers to yell how hot Jessica looked in that plaid skirt as they drove by? Or how much of a perv Thomas Offerson is? Or his opinion on the new episode of How I Met Your Mother? Why did they have to talk? Why did they want  _him_  to talk? Can't they see the ropes around his throat and the tar the leaks from his mouth anytime he opens it? Why won't they just leave him alone? Why won't  _they_  just leave him alone?

He slams his door when he gets home and throws himself on his bed. He pulls his pillow over his head and tries to smother himself. It shouldn’t be too hard, he can barely breathe as it is, his lungs gurgling and bubbling as he coughs up black anytime his diaphragm forces itself to push up and down because for some  _stupid reason_  his brain wants him to continue to survive just to extend to torture. He knows what he wants, he knows what  _they_  want, but he can't, he won't give them the satisfaction. Defying them is they only form of validation he really feels anymore.

And even that's losing its edge.

It's like his body is on some sick form of autopilot, pushing up from his bed and forcing his shaky legs out of his room. He knows the destination, and can distantly hear alarm bells going off. He promised himself, no, he swore to himself,  _never again._

So much for 7 months.

He braces himself against the wall of his hallway. No. He can't give into the temptation. But he needs something. He needs to get away.

He registers that he's by the stairway to the basement. He nearly trips as he launches himself down the steps and toward the keyboard still up against the wall. He uses his numb fingers to plug it into the outlet; half hoping the taint makes his skin more conductive.

He turns the volume knob as far as he can and slams his hands down. The ear-splitting sound that bursts from the keyboard can in no way be called pleasant, but he doesn't care. He begins screaming, glad that he's alone in his house at the moment. He let's all his pent up frustration out onto the poor piano, his black handprints showing up all over it. He throws himself away and ends up kicking it in the process, not caring if he broke the keyboard or not. He clutches his head and continues to scream, tears leaking down his face.

Everything else becomes meaningless.

His clogged lungs are finally being emptied.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That night

He wakes up snuggled under his blankets with stinging eyes and a pulsing headache. He doesn't remember walking upstairs, and he doubts  _they_  wanted to move after his breakdown in the basement. He turns his head to his nightstand and sees Owen staring at him with a note saying " _I Love You Tyler"_  in his mother's hand writing resting on his once pale blue belly.

He reaches over and grabs the owl toy. He hasn't slept with him since he was ten, and felt a twinge of guilt of the thought of his old friend remaining stuffed in a box or under his bed for half a decade. If he were alive, Owen's hollow ribs probably would be shattered and poking out of his skin based on how tightly Tyler was clinging to him right now. But Owen had always sacrificed for Tyler, giving up his beautiful blue body for a now inky and tattered lump.

Tyler lay there for a few minutes, nuzzling the stuffed bird. He forgot the sort of security Owen could give him. It was nice.

Owen probably deserves to meet his replacement. 

He pushes himself up and quietly walks to the basement, cradling the bird in his arms. When he turns the piano right side up, he's surprised to see the only damage to it is a cracked G key. He settles Owen next to the speaker and goes up and down one of the scales. The relief he feels is intoxicating. It reminds him of....

He doesn’t have to do that anymore.

He can do this instead. 

 


End file.
